False desires
by Bjrn Fallqvist
Summary: A short story of what really goes on in Jaheira's head, and the consequences...


How she hated being near him. The stench, penetrating all her senses, making it unbearable, mentally gagging her. His touch, seemingly revolting even her skin whenever he touched her made her want to cringe. But most of all it had to be the way he looked at her that made her so revolted, as if he was surveying one of his possessions or similar.  
  
The whole of his being was rejected by all her senses, but still she stayed near him, and sometimes she was so very close to leaving, forgetting it all. But then it would all have been in vain. Just like she had put up with that stuttering poor excuse for a man before all this had begun, in the fool dreams of him actually being able to use his father's contacts to make a fortune for himself. But he lacked the backbone to do it, and was downright too much of a do-gooder to do anything that would gain him an advantage. It was too bad it took so long before she realized it, and if she then had left him, other people in the Harpers – which was nothing but an organization to further her own ends – would have viewed her unfavorably.  
  
Thus she was stuck with the blabbering imbecile, and when Khalid got the message that their old friend needed a favour to ask of them, he rushed off to meet him at the Friendly Arm Inn, and she still tagged along.  
  
She had never been any real close friend with Elminister, as Khalid had been the more sociable of the two, but had still managed to pick up bits from here and there, and specifically learning about this foster child that Gorion, another friends of "theirs" – Khalid's – had taken care of. And also the power this child might hold, if nurtured well.  
  
And now it would soon be time to harvest the seed of all her careful work. After the imbecil's death, playing the mourning widow had been easy enough, and it had all played right into her hands as she saw how his affections for her grew, and she actually enjoyed playing the "hard-to-catch" part, tormenting him with her antics.  
  
What had not been as amusing, however, was how their relationship had developed, and how she had – to keep up the entire show – had to engage in more physical activities. She still had not gotten used to it, and probably would never have been able to either, if it had continued. She remembered the minutes after, when they were lying in the bed, her trying not to vomit on his chest as he attempted what he figured was a loving embrace. She would always slip away as far as she possibly could from him, lying on the edge of her bed, keeping herself from gagging, until she finally got a hold on her senses again, and actually could fall asleep, although it was most often filled with nightmares.  
  
And during those tormented moments when he had dozed off to blissful, restful sleep, she often wondered why she did not simply take the knife from her pack and finished it. How she hated seeing that peaceful and naïve expression on his face. She often caught herself wondering how much she could cut and peel off his face before it would get unrecognizable or he would pass out of pain.  
  
But the thoughts never came to actual actions, much to the dismay of one part of her. The more practical, of course, spoke against it.  
  
And as she followed her practical sense – as always – now it had come to this.  
  
The entire group stood by the Throne of Bhaal, in a plane unknown to existence. It had long been dead, and would have, if not for recent happenings.  
  
Green lights swirled in the distance, forming patterns, sometimes flashing quickly before deilluminating again. Sometimes it looked as if they were moving away, and sometimes as if they were coming closer, but everything seemed to stear away from the platform they all stood upon.  
  
In front of them, the body of Melissan had just shriveled to something unrecognizable, as if the divine essence was all that filled it. Now it looked like nothing more than the skin of a thousand years old mummy, and after that, even that skin flaked away before disappearing into a wind not noticeable by mortals, but curiously, it left no trace at all.  
  
In front of them, grand and horrifying at the same time, stood the Throne of Bhaal, upon which Bhaal once had sat, it's entire structure seemingly alive in some way, writhing and crawling around itself, but still remaining the same form.  
  
The father to the man who now stood to take what his heritage granted him. And after he bid farewell to his friends, he seemed to expand from within, as a transparency seemed to settle over him, tearing loose strips of flesh and other, more and more until nothing but a whirlwind of his remains, now glowing in the strange air, seemed to expand, before seeking out the Throne itself, swirling around it in a colourful show of mortal pieces imbued with divine essence. Faster and faster they swirled, until, so fast it could hardly be seen happening, they seemed so smash into the throne. But ther was no sound, no flash or anything that indicated one of the most important happenings the last century had occurred.  
  
But on the Throne, now a young man sat, his eyes gleaming with power, shifting in colours, like a god. But he was a god, now.  
  
He shifted his head to look at her, and as she heard him speak the first words, she knew for sure she was due her reward of power. His face smiled in all it's glory.  
  
"You have followed me since I became an orphan in the real meaning of the word...you were always there to support me, and I knew I could rely on you in any situation. You showed me affection when it all seemed as hard as it could possibly be. You always knew what had to be done."  
  
She swelled with pride and expectation of what was to come, but he continued speaking before she could utter a word, his face becoming a sneer of hate, mixed with disgust.  
  
"What you didn't know, however, was the knowledge and power that comes with being divine. And the knowledge I have gained. As well as the insights. And realizations. Don't you think I felt how you really felt around me? How you those shudders during the nights we were making love were shudders of revulsion, not pleasure? How you would always look at me when you didn't think I was looking, having a very hard time hiding your disgust? How it was all just another part of your scheme? You had counted with everything, twirling me around your finger, just to gain power? Is that all everyone else is to you? Your friends? Or are you such a twisted animal that it is all you understand? Then let me tell you this; You can, and will, understand the power that comes with being a god."  
  
It all went fast. Her thoughts were a blur, and she could not form anything coherent to say. A pull came from somewhere, tugging at her. Not just her body, but her very soul, and everything that she was. She tried to resist, but she realized soon that it was futile, and even when it hit her she tried to keep herself from shattering into a thousand pieces by the very forces within her. She screamed, as her intestines felt as if they were being mauled together with the very core of her mind to something as morbid as the thoughts of her brain. She screamed again, as it stretched out, seeming to shatter her mind while gluing it together, keeping it in constant pain.  
  
That was when all her defences fell because of the pure pain, and instead of lessening it became worse. Now the storm raged at full inside her, gagging her mouth, making her unable to scream, except in her mind, but even that hurt. And in something that might have been a breeze, she was whisked from the material plane like a candle in a rainy thunderstorm, never to be lit again. Only then did she feel the real power of the pull. The power of a god.  
  
And as she fell throughout the planes, experiencing a thousand horrors in one for every millisecond of her now eternal existence, Jaheira of Tethyr was able to utter one last sentence, a raving cursing of her charge, before she fell into the deepest planes of existence. 


End file.
